A Marketplace Without Time
by Wilhelm Gravens
Summary: A young man ponders his life as a merchant and part-time thug beneath steel towers and surrounded by the masses. Images of the past drift through his mind as he pulls himself towards paying his debt and forming the next stage of his journey in a new orbit around business. Awareness with a side of the unknown in a marketplace that may have lost it's sense of time.


Under a dusty tent facing a bustling open air market, Cooper sat behind a fold up table arrayed with a selection of microelectronics. The components were laid out in order of cost with the most expensive pieces at the back of the table where they could be better protected from the hands of thieves. There were many such young agents on the streets surrounding the market. Each would be more than eager to get a handful of the goods on display and the only guaranteed method of protection was to keep eyes on the pieces all the time.

Cooper briefly recalled his own youth, mostly spent hanging around the gas station in his small town looking for work. Fragments of the seemingly ancient past floated up to the surface of his mind and he had flashes of classroom frustration coupled with anger at being contained within the institutional walls.

Shaking his head to clear the memories the muscular young man scanned the crowd in front of him. This part of the employment he currently maintained was the most difficult for the burly sometimes thug. He was more excited about the high speed deliveries through the city's busy streets, or the tense bodyguard work which included escorting his clients to and from popular locations for nightlife.

This part of the job simply required waiting. He would sit here for hours on the designated afternoons and make some small sales in electronics. However, the real goal was for him to meet with the traveling merchants who did business with his organization when they came to town. They would leave him documents wrapped up tight in manila envelope bundles.

It wasn't his job to know what was in the documents, only to wait until the merchants decided to show up and make him responsible for another bundle. He assumed they were documents related to money laundering or another equally dangerous financial enterprise. The merchants mostly relied on his organization to assist in doing business within the city's downtown financial districts and by extension with the global banking system which kept everyone in a reasonably manageable state of debt.

Big numbers weren't exactly his strong suit but he understood enough about supply and demand to recognize the look on the faces of the many entrepreneurs and would-be stars that crossed his path. The daily routine was mostly routine. He had several somewhat reliable sources of information about the daily ins and outs of the market.

There was also a strange but often surprisingly profitable relationship with the owner of a nearby night club. As long as his communications equipment was in working order the jobs would come down the line via phone call, text message, encrypted email or every once in a while through the distant voicemail system which he took such pains to preserve. Continents away, it was a drop box of sorts for the more difficult jobs which required a much more paranoid level of security to obtain.

Another potential customer drifted past his table and peered for a moment over the electronics on display. Nothing registered to indicate there was a sale about to happen and eventually the robed young person faded back into the stream of shoppers and beggars constantly milling through the passage.

It had been almost two years now that Cooper was working for the organization and making enough money to pay off the debt he had built up when he first hit town. He had a good feeling about the job, it was a part of his life here he could really be proud of. Friends and contacts had come and gone in the whirlwind of activity that surrounded the market on a daily basis. It was said you could sell just about anything on these streets and in the darker corners Cooper believed that just might be true.

Planted behind the folding table like some giant dust covered cactus the young man waited. He practiced his staring into space for a while, trying to take in the details of his surroundings without giving the appearance of paying attention. This worked to hold his interest for a while but eventually his gaze locked onto the face of an old woman whom he remembered had helped him stumble to his flat after waking in the street early one morning. The memory irritated, stirring some fresh emotion in the depths of his mind and thus he moved on to politely scanning the various bags, packs and bundles people carried with them.

Making sense of what he saw here was only a passing pursuit. There had been so many occasions where logic simply failed to work. It was not uncommon to see two grown women with children in tow break out into a vicious fight, slapping and hitting each other until the wailing of the loser rang out through the street. Watching the pickpockets go to work on the drunks in the early morning hours was as much entertainment as it was a lesson on preserving one's goods. On rare occasions you might find quarter of an hour filled with what might generally be considered cooperative behavior but it was far more common to find a number of parties in heated debates while numerous violent cat and mouse games played out.

Another memory drifted upward from the depth of the man's mind. The sky was filled with rain and he was standing at the edge of a long platform just beyond the main area of a train station. As the lumbering giant stood several stories above his head he sat and put the last strength he had into debating whether or not to simply leave town. The decision didn't take much time with the cold sheeting of nature on his already chilled head. He had left his small apartment and entertainment center behind, only his portable computer, the contents of his desk drawer and a few changes of clothes had come with. The rest were left to a friend who did their best to sell off the furniture and sound system.

A white bolt of light struck heavy somewhere just behind his left ear. Before he could think about what was going on his feet propelled him forward, turning over the table and it's assortment of electrical gadgets, phones and networking modules flying into the air. His feet pounded the ground and his pack swerved him into a hard lean as he bounded through the cries and shouts of the crowd. He burst through into a dark and sparsely populated alley where he took a few slower strides to gather his senses and catch his breath.

With a quick check to make sure all his limbs were intact and there were no dangerous wounds, he continued on his way to the end of the alley and forward into the afternoon. The items he was selling would have to wait until he could determine just what had happened. Running through his memories for the smallest hint or indication of what might have been going on he thought he could picture the edge of a stun grenade cruising just along the edge of his field of vision. Mob violence? Drug deal gone wrong?

It was at least another ten minutes of walking and jogging through various walkways and courtyards before he felt safe stopping to check in with his connections around the city. He ducked down into a secluded doorway which looked as if it received only minimal foot traffic from the collection of dusty newspapers and detritus that had blown in around its base.

His phone was out and connected to the portable computer with the smoothness of rehearsed action. He had performed this task hundreds of times before but right now he needed to be as fast and discreet as possible. He had no idea if the attack had been intended for him or not, but he did know that any of a number of criminal elements would be watching him merely for his being in the market at that time. The last thing he needed was to attract the attention of thieves while he worked.

Once his phone connection indicated that a link had been established he selected his messaging program and simultaneously pulled up his email client. His network access was thanks to one of a handful of phone cards which he kept in a thick carrying case that also housed other tools of the trade; flashlights, pocket knife, stun gun, lock picks and various cables and memory cards. His messenger showed him that several of his delivery boy contacts were connected via their mobile phones but no one had been near the market. There were already rumors flying around about gang activity, kidnapping in progress, bounty hunters tracking their prey. The message boards and chat rooms of this place seemed to be that way. Any activity elicited a number of fantastic descriptions, a city-wide game of telephone changing the details at each step until you could believe that vigilante heroes were busy duking it out with the forces of darkness at every turn.

He flipped over to his email and spotted a recent note from an anonymous email account. He had decided against taking the time setting up his network connection this morning and had opted to go directly to setting up his table and wares. The notice was cryptic but it appeared to suggest that today may not be the best day to set up shop in the market. He was confused and irritated again. Memories of quietly studying textbooks and manuals via his portable computer on the train came to mind and blurred his concentration. He had no idea who this email was from but they seemed to be better informed than he. Taking a few minutes to compose himself and recalling some of the security theory he had read he pulled together a response. Without giving away too much information about his own situation he typed in a reply that seemed to be neutral enough and asked who was so concerned and would they be interested in filling in the details.

Not wanting to waste time sitting around he cautiously went through the disconnection process, closing his messenger program and email and finally disconnecting the phone's wireless link. Packing up the equipment into his carrying case and sliding that back into his tote bag he moved out of the doorway and back into the quiet flow of foot traffic. Maybe this was a sign that he should be looking for a change of pace.

Violence wasn't uncommon in the streets here but this seemed too close for comfort. Who was this mysterious party who seemed to know there was trouble in the works? Was this related to his employers? He realized that the meeting with the traveling merchants would have to wait until he could determine whether or not there was any danger. He would have to call one or more of his bosses and see if trouble was in fact coming down on him now that he had abandoned his post.


End file.
